


When I'm Not With You I'm Losing My Mind

by hesitantpunk



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Angst, Death, Ghosts, Hallucinations, Horror, Loss, M/M, Mental Instability
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-05-17 19:24:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5882614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hesitantpunk/pseuds/hesitantpunk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grief is often something that must be overcome alone. As Gerard tries to conquer his grief and fight his guilt, he realizes he may not be entirely alone. Could the whispers in the night and the shadows in the corner of his eye be suggestions of life after death? Or just signs of a deteriorating mind?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! This is my first story on here and I am very excited to get it started. I will hopefully be able to keep a steady update. Comments and criticism are greatly appreciated so please do not be shy. Please also keep in mind that while my beta, Chemical_Kisses, and I try to catch all mistakes, there are some that slip by so feel free to comment about anything that you find incorrect.
> 
> Disclaimer: This is a fictional creation. I do not own the band My Chemical Romance or any of the people associated with it.

It had been three am when he had received the call. What had he been doing in his kitchen at three am on the rainy Wednesday night of November seventeenth?

Waiting for Frank to come back. 

Gerard shivered. It was a cold, bleak night, but he hadn't bothered to put on anything warmer than a t-shirt. He had thought about making coffee, for himself and Frank, for when he decided to come back. He would make coffee and fix it just the way Frank liked--two teaspoons of sugar and no milk--and they would work everything out. He knew Frank would come back. Frank would always come back.

The wind howled outside his window, shaking the frames of the room. Gerard quaked and curled into himself. He had despised the sounds of the wind ever since he had been a child. It was almost like someone was trying to speak to him, cry out to him. However, the wind couldn't form a voice only howl and scream.

The shrill, first ring of the phone hadn't even finished before he had it in his trembling hands. He had picked it up expecting the same slightly scratchy voice to respond with a shaky, "Hey." Except it wasn't. A loud, painful sob broke through the speaker of the phone, sending Gerard out of his chair on to his feet. 

"He-Hello?" He asked shakily. The voice replied with more wounded sobs. "Who is this?" He placed his hand on the counter, tapping his fingers methodically. The person on the phone seemed to be trying to form words. "What happened?" Gerard said with a bit more force. He drummed his fingers against the cold countertop. The voice cried out sounding slightly tinny through the speakers of the phone. 

There was shuffling on the end before he heard another voice. "Frank..." It trailed off into a broken cry. The name sent a spark through Gerard's body. The wails grew louder and louder, almost overpowering the roaring wind outside.

"What happened?" He whispered, his fingers stopping. More sickening sobs. "Tell me what happened!" He yelled, his knees weak, frantically gripping the counter for support. The wind continued to howl outside, the torrents of rain ripping through the trees.

"Dead." The voice broke off into more wails.

All sound left his ears.

"Wh-what?" He whispered. Goosebumps ran up his arms. The room had seemed to drop twenty degrees. He breathed out. Was that his breath coming out in puffs? 

It was like the time when he was a child at his grandmother's food store. He had snuck into the large freezer in the back of the store looking for ice cream. The door had closed and he had been submerged in darkness. Even on that hot summer day his body temperature had dropped quickly, and he could feel the ice crystals creep up his skin. If his grandmother hadn't heard him screaming and crying he would have been left in the dark to freeze.

The room was like that freezer now. The light seemed dimmer, the room the same dark gray color of the sky outside. He became suddenly aware of how cold the tips of his fingers were. He touched his finger to his bare arm and was shocked at how frigid it was.

Another sob echoed through the phone. He jumped and gripped the phone desperately with his icy hands. "Di-did you say dead?" He whispered out in a breath.

"He's dead, his car..." The person whimpered. "He's dead, it-it killed him..." More ugly cries rang through the line. 

An instant chill rushed up his spine, stiffening his mind and body. His blood slowed, turning into ice. Dead. His knees gave out and he hit the floor with a hard thud, sending jolts of shock through his body. He felt the breath leave his chest. The floor was ice, cold like the floor of the freezer. He was frozen, even after the broken sobs had stopped after being hung up. Even when Mikey had stumbled into his apartment, his shoulders shaking from his huge, ragged sobs, sitting down next to where Gerard lay incapacitated on the floor. All sound was a distant echo, Mikey's screams barely audible. 

"Gerard! Get up! He's dead, Gerard! Get up, he's dead, please get up!" Mikey screamed down at him. His sobs were reaching to the point of hysteric, and his face was stained red and wet. 

Mikey's tears dripped down on to Gerard's stagnant face. He was gone, completely isolated from the world. A sheet of ice had enveloped him, sending him far away from his reality. It was as if he was underwater, the only sound a distant echo. 

He was in the freezer again, a young boy trapped in the dark. But this time he could feel the ice creeping up his body, starting at the base of his spine and crawling up his back. This time he wouldn't be able to escape the dark.

Frank. Dead.

He sunk down farther and farther into the deep ocean of his mind, welcoming the darkness that was approaching him. The cold tile beneath him, Mikey's loud sobs and screams, and the steady buzz of the phone were all fading away. The only thing that prevented the darkness from encompassing him fully was the same word playing over and over in his head, like a broken record player. _Dead._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have finally updated with a much longer chapter. I'm sorry it took so long but this chapter took a lot more time than expected. This is where the story really begins and the chapters from now on will probably be about this length. Hope you enjoy!

_Hands grazed his shoulder, sending slight shivers down his spine. The other hand brushed the stray hair out of Gerard's face, the touch so soft it was almost nonexistent. Gerard let his eyes flutter shut as the warm hands moved across his cheek. His eyes opened once again as dry lips ghosted across his own. The breath across his face was warm against the cold tip of his nose. Lips traveled across his jaw before returning to his mouth, a small smirk playing on them as they hovered over him. Gerard reached up with both hands, carding his fingers through hair while pulling him down until their lips met. His dry lips had felt strange against Gerard's slightly wet ones, but that thought had only flashed briefly through Gerard's head._

_After that last fleeting thought all other thoughts scattered, and the only thing that was present was the steady buzz of Gerard's head and the way the lips felt pressed against his own. A soothing current filled Gerard's body, running from the tip of his toes up to where lips met his mouth, his entire body singing with electricity. He felt warm inside and out. The lips pulled away, eliciting a small gasp from his own mouth,"Frank."_

"Frank Iero--" Gerard was drawn from his mind back to his reality, sitting in a hard, cold pew with Mikey on his right and the end of the pew on his left. A man, a priest, was speaking. Speaking about Frank. "--a kind, thoughtful man, who had done many great things," The priest paused. "We all know that life on earth is not the end." The congregation of people surrounding Gerard nodded, some weeping, some listening intently with solemn faces. "For there is life above our own, life after this. Frank may not be with us any longer, but we know, we have faith, that he is on to the next world." The priest looked over at the casket. "And we share in the comfort and knowing that he will be forever happy."

_You goddamned son of a bitch. You think he's happy? He left me. He's alone, without me. Dead. He's fucking dead. You motherfucking liar. He's dead and he'll never be happy, never again. You think you know him, but I know. I know. His eyes will never crinkle at the corners like they did when he laughed. A smile will never grace his lips, never flash white teeth behind red lips. His head will never slightly tilt back like it did when he was laughing. His eyes will never glint with joy. He will never be happy and I fucking know that. I will burn down this church and make you--_

"Gee?" Someone whispered in his ear. Gerard looked over at Mikey. "You're crying..." Mikey looked at him with empathy in his eyes.

Gerard touched his cheek. It was wet. He didn't remember crying yet his eyes burned with tears. He reached up and scrubbed at his eyes desperately as Mikey handed him a tissue. It seemed the entire congregation had been passing them around. He dabbed at his eyes. The priest was still speaking, speaking about Frank's happiness, as if he had the right. He crumpled the tissue in his hand, crushing it tightly.

"Eternal life in heaven is something that we all look forward to. And we all now know that Frank will be present there when we join God's kingdom..." The priest said. Gerard twisted the tissue into a tight rope, wringing it between his hands. "And while we patiently await and prepare for our time with God, we know that Frank will be present in our hearts..." He twisted the tissue between his hands again and again, pulling it tighter and tighter. "And in our lives." The tissue ripped in half, leaving white, little flakes on his black suit pants. He glanced down in his lap. Frank would have laughed. Frank hated suits. 

Frank would have laughed at the whole scene. At the white roses that seemed to be coming out of every corner of the place, like some malignant tumor. At all the sniveling and sniffling people who pretended to know him, pretended to cry over his death. He would have laughed at the whole goddamn church. 

The church was old and dank, the pews musty and cold. The walls were built with ancient cobblestone and covered with stain glass windows, many of them depicting the life and death of Jesus Christ. Although it was a dark, cloudy day a particular window still shone colorful shapes onto the floor of the church. The window pictured a deep red cross with a white dove above it with delicate patterns of dark blues and purples surrounding it. The window was positioned at the head of the church, right over the pristine white altar. The altar's white marble floors were bathed in deep red from the light that cascaded down on to it.

When they had both been in Catholic high school, they had always laughed and fooled around in the back of the Mass they had been forced to attend once a week. Frank would probably laugh now, just like he had back then, at the all the old saps who sat around Gerard. His laugh would sound like it always had, loud and slightly obnoxious, something you would expect from a punk kid. It was always filled with short snickers almost like that of a hyena's. Frank had always disliked his laugh because of the way it always turned out high pitched and squeaky. Gerard could hear it now, echoing around the old stone walls of the church, bouncing off the stain glass windows to meet Gerard's ears. It was better than any music he had ever heard. It filled his head with memories, back from when he was only ten all the way to last week, of Frank's laugh. 

A loud, broken sob broke through his reverie and he jumped, his head flying up from where it stared down at his lap. Those were the same sobs from the night on the phone. He looked around, seeing Mrs. Iero huddled against her husband and being led out of the church. Mrs. Iero, the woman he had always considered a second mother. She had called him the night of the accident. Cold chills rushed up his spine just thinking about that night. 

Mikey looked at his brother worriedly. His eyes were glassed over, like they had been the night he had found him on the kitchen floor. He nudged Gerard, shattering the film that had gathered over his eyes. 

"Hey Gee, funerals almost over, then we can go home," Mikey whispered.

Gerard looked around, slightly shocked. Had that much time already passed? The priest was gone and a weeping figure cloaked in black was leaving the podium from where they had spoken. It seemed that more people in the congregation had started crying. Gerard grimaced. Where had all of these people been when Frank was alive, when he needed their caring the most? In Gerard's mind Frank deserved as much affection as people could provide, more than he could ever supply. Yet these people were never there in Frank's life. It seemed that people only remembered you when you were dead. Putting off your calls, your texts for advice and help, they would always tell themselves they would answer later, but never remembered. And now that Frank was dead all the disregarded memories returned to haunt them. And they could do nothing more than cry. 

Or maybe they just came to the funeral because they had to. Maybe they never cared, didn't care whether he was alive or dead. But if they didn't come, people would talk, so they put on their facade of sadness and mourned over "poor Frankie's death". 

People like that made Gerard sick. These people made him sick. They made him want to claw his way from the pew he sat in and run his way to the front of the church. Made him want to scream at them all and grab them by their faces, his fingers swiping away their fake tears, and scream, _"You're all fakes! You're all faking it! He hates you, he knows you don't care! You don't know anything about him!"_ But instead he just sat there and waited. And when it was time to stand, he stood robotically, and followed everyone else to the front of the church. 

He walked slowly, running his hand against the backs of the dark pews he shuffled by. He walked slowly because he knew that once he got to the end of this he would have to stare directly at that face, and it would be the last time he ever saw it before it was buried under eight feet of dirt. He didn't want that cold, placid face of Frank to be his last memory. He wanted to remember Frank's face when he was alive, his eyes shining with emotion and his face creased with life. Even if his last memory of Frank's face being of the last time he saw him. One that was filled with anger, that yelled at him and stormed out of his house. Anything but a cold, lifeless memory of the man Frank had been..

But if he didn't look now, he would never see him again. If he didn't say his last goodbye to Frank, and tried to memorize everything he loved about him, he may begin to forget. He couldn't allow himself to forget. Because remembering a stone cold face was better than not remembering a face at all. He promised himself he wouldn't forget. And he would never break that promise.

So when he made it to the front of the church he forced himself to tear his gaze away from the ground where it had been. He slowly brought his gaze to the casket that lay in front of him. Everything around him was hazy as he ran his line of sight from the bottom of the casket all the way to the top. The white roses swarmed the edges of the shining coffin, as if they were trying to conceal the body with flowers. Frank's pristine, black shoes and his ironed suit pants were all fuzzy, almost like he was witnessing a mirage. He dragged his gaze up to Frank's tailored suit coat. It was too perfect. Frank's clothes always had some sort of stain, or rumple, or hole in them. These were not Frank's clothes. He walked closer and ran his eyes along the black tie against Frank's crisp cotton shirt. He darted his eyes away from the tattoo that was peaking from under Frank's collar. He had helped design that scorpion tattoo.

His eyes landed on Frank's stiff, dead face. The lines around him were once again clear and he no longer felt he was witnessing a mirage. All his focus was on Frank's face. 

He felt like he was going to be sick. 

His knees wobbled and he grasped the casket for support. That was not Frank's face. This was not Frank. Frank's face was never like that. No, it was always warm and alive. It always had some sort of expression on it. Not placid and solid like this. This was a piece of flesh, dead, flesh, with sunken in eyes lined in a sickly green and paper white lips, not Frank. People said that when someone died they looked like they were asleep. Frank had never looked like this when he was asleep. Gerard had seen Frank asleep many times and he had never looked as horrible as he did now. He had always looked so beautiful, his face the picture of peace. This face was barely recognizable. This was not Frank. 

"It's not Frank." He whispered. Mikey looked at him from where he was standing off to the side.

"This isn't Frank." He said a bit louder, his voice wobbling. He gripped the edge of casket tightly, trying to keep his knees from shaking. A few other people looked up as Mikey began walking towards him.

"Gee..." Mikey said as he got closer. Gerard's hands began to tremble.

"That's not Frank!" He yelled, ripping his shaking hands from the casket and turning away. People stood from their pews as he tried to walk away from the casket and the sunken, dead flesh. His legs betrayed him and he fell to the floor of the church. And finally, after the entire funeral, he began to sob, his wails shaking his entire body. Mikey ran over to him, crouching down next to him and gripping his shoulders.

"Gerard? Gerard we need to go home now. C'mon Gerard, get up. Please Gee, let's go home, you'll feel better at home." Mikey said in an attempt to calm him, trying to unfurl Gerard's body. He had curled in on himself and was shaking like a leaf in the wind as his sobs racked through his body.

"No, no I didn't g-get to s-say goodbye" He cried, trying to stand. Whether that was Frank's body or not, he had to say his last goodbyes. He had to tell Frank, if he was listening, what he truly meant to him. Had to tell him again and again and pray that Frank would be able to hear him. "P-please Mikey! Please let me." He tried to stand again, but his shaking frame prevented him.

"Can someone help me bring him to the car?" Mikey yelled, not breaking his eyes away from Gerard's wet face. A man walked towards them, wrapping one of Gerard's arms around his shoulder as Mikey grabbed the other, bringing him to his feet.

"No! No, wait! I can't--" Gerard tried to claw his way from their grip, twisting his body back towards the front of the church. He had to say goodbye. He had to tell Frank what he had told him that night. He had to say it again, because Frank never got to hear the whole thing. "--Mikey! Please! I have to tell him, I have to see him!" Gerard's yells turned to screams as he was dragged from the Church. People around them stared with horrified faces as they watched the two men drag the screaming man from the church. 

"Gerard. Gee? C'mon, try to calm down." Mikey tried to soothe Gerard as they walked at out the large wooden doors of the church and out onto the wet pavement of the parking lot.

"N-no, I-I have to go back." Gerard's screams had now turned to weak sobs as Mikey led them to the car. Mikey opened the car door and the man slid Gerard into the seat as he continued to cry. He had lost all the anger that had been with him only minutes ago, replaced with a feeling of emptiness, which was worse than anything he had been experiencing earlier.

"Thanks so much man. I didn't know he was going to get this hysterical." Mikey said, turning away from Gerard and lowering his voice to prevent Gerard from hearing, as if he was a young child throwing a tantrum. 

"No problem," The man sighed. His eyes traveled across the parking lot. The day's atmosphere seemed to pair perfectly with the events at the church. It was a foggy day with a cold nip in the air. "I understand, this death's been hard on all of us," He said solemnly. After a moment the man nodded to Mikey and then to Gerard and walked off back towards the church with his hands in his pockets.

Mikey sighed and walked back toward the car where Gerard now sat silently with stray tears sliding down his cheeks. Staring down at his lap with his eyes drooping he looked as though he were about to fall asleep. Mikey popped open the car door and slid in, slamming it shut and causing Gerard to jump.

He glanced over at his brother, his eyes filled with worry. "Gee, why don't you try to rest? You're tired, this is exhausting for all of us. You'll feel much better after you sleep." He knew this was going to be impossibly hard for Gerard but he had not been prepared for this fit. It was alarming how quickly his mood had changed, from hysteric to exhausted in minutes. 

Gerard nodded blearily, too tired to argue. Suddenly he felt exhausted, as if the energy had been sucked out of him, leaving him as nothing but a hollow shell of what he was before. His brain felt fuzzy, like the way a T.V. was when the white noise appeared. He leaned his head against the ice cold window as Mikey began to drive and let the white noise envelope his entire brain, shutting his eyes and praying for sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, I apologize for the long wait, I hit major writer's block. I am back and hopefully will be able to keep a steadier update. Enjoy!

What awoke him was the smell. A spicy, peppery scent, one that reminded you of autumn nights and apple cider. It filled his room and he opened his eyes at the strange intrusion. He would know that smell anywhere. The smell of cinnamon flavored gum. The flavor that made your mouth feel like it was on fire and sometimes left your eyes watering. The gum that nobody ever wanted in the drug store, the one kept in a dark, red box with cinnamon sticks decorating the sides. The scent filled his head, a smell that marked so many memories in his life, covered the corners of his mind. Frank's gum. 

It had first been introduced when he and Frank had been teenagers, the small sticks of gum used to mask the smell of smoke from Frank's mom. Frank had first tried pink bubblegum, then spearmint, but nothing had been as strong as the spicy red sticks of candy. He made sure to chew three pieces on his way home from school and it worked, his mom never caught him smoking those first couple of years. 

Soon Frank was chewing pieces of the candy every chance he got, one of the many reasons why teachers hated him. He stored the sticks of gum everywhere, in his car, his book bag and once Gerard had even found some of it in Frank's bed. Their friends stopped asking Frank for gum, knowing that it would always be the gross cinnamon flavor that Frank loved. They used to joke that Frank was more addicted to the gum than he was the nicotine. Gerard grew addicted to the smell too, began to associate it with his best friend.

Others began to associate him with the smell too, not only his friends, but the entire high school. The rumors in the girls locker room grew, whispers of make-outs in the dark corners of parties and _the hot punk boy who's lips tasted like cinnamon and smoke._ Of course Gerard didn't know what Frank's lips tasted like, he was Frank's best friend and Frank only ever made out with girls. But he couldn't help but notice that those make-outs never led to anything more.

This scent was what Gerard associated with home, with warmth, with pleasant memories. Frank's gum, Frank's car, Frank's beat up sneakers, these were all things Gerard would always associate with home. And he would never forget the details of each of these things. The torn lace on Frank's sneaker from when it had gotten caught on a fence that he had tried to jump. The time when Frank had asked Gerard to draw him a little vampire on the inside of the drivers door and Gerard had ended up doodling all throughout the car. And Frank's gum, the fragrance that seemed to fill his room now.

A crack of light from the door drew Gerard from his heavy lidded stare. As soon as scent had come, it vanished with the light, leaving the room to feel cold and unforgiving. Why had he even smelled it in the first place? He didn't store any in his room, although he used to keep it in his pantry for Frank. Used to. Gerard rolled over with squinted eyes towards the light that illuminated Mikey's lanky figure.

"Hey Gee? Sorry I came so early, I called but you didn't answer so I drove over here," Mikey half-whispered. 

Gerard nodded his head a bit against his pillow. "It's fine Mikey," he murmured. He wasn't surprised that Mikey was over, he visited constantly, Gerard had even given him a key to his place. 

"Just wanted to check up on you," Mikey said, opening the door a bit more. Gerard clenched his eyes closed at the beams of sunlight that struck his eyes. Mikey paused, feeling like their mom as he looked in at his brother, who was curled up in a ball of blankets in his dark room. "I made some coffee, why don't you come into the kitchen?" 

"Yeah, I will, just give me a minute," Gerard said, turning back over. 

Mikey stood still for a moment, wondering whether to leave his brother alone in his dark room or to bring him out into the kitchen. He pushed the door closed after a minute, before shuffling into the kitchen in hopes that Gerard would decide to drag himself out of bed and follow

A sliver of weak light shone through the cracks of the door and into the room, shining onto the glossy material of the posters that decorated Gerard's wall. One poster in particular, a _Night of the Living Dead_ movie poster, shone in the corner of his wall right above his bed. He looked at it, the heavy lidded stare returning. The pictures it depicted, screaming women and flesh eating zombies covering the edges, used to oddly bring him comfort, but now gazing up at it brought a chill down his spine. The zombies stared down at him as if he was their next victim, the zombies with _bloodthirsty lust for...HUMAN FLESH!_ Not surprisingly, Frank had bought him that poster, knowing their share of love for the movie. His ten year old self echoed a childish hope in the corner of his mind, _maybe Frank would turn into a zombie._ Frank would have been elated at the idea of him being a flesh-eating monster. 

Gerard turned over and sat up as he heard Mikey open cabinets and drawers downstairs. His head still felt heavy and fuzzy with disorientation, like it had been yesterday, feeling like someone had filled his head with molten metal and it had slowly hardened overnight. Placing his feet on the carpet, he willed his legs to allow him to stand up on the cold, hard wood. He didn't feel particularly sick, more depersonalized, like a part of him was still laying in bed asleep. 

His legs felt as stiff as boards as he dragged his feet across the cold floor. The handle on the door was ice, in fact the entire room was practically below zero. His fingertips even felt freezing as he wrapped an arm around himself, opening the door and walking into the pale morning light that flooded his hallway. He made his way to the kitchen, but paused outside the door, hoping to clear his mind enough to approach Mikey. He knew his outburst yesterday had been terrifying, it terrified him now just thinking of it. But the feelings were out now, the hysterics he had expressed yesterday had been released from his system and now he could mourn peacefully with the memories of Frank, like the ones he had experienced just earlier in bed. Yes, now everything would be better, now he could remember, reminisce, pretend that Frank was still here, think of only the good things. If he remembered only the good memories, the bad feelings, the sadness, the anger, the guilt, would be released, along with the bad memories. That's what people did when they lost someone, right? Remembered, pretended. He had always been good at pretending. 

With a bit more energy he opened the door to Mikey who sat staring into space with a steaming cup in his hands. His head darted to where Gerard stood and a weak smile crossed his lips. Gerard stared at Mikey, where he was seated. That was where he had sat the night- no. He couldn't think about that, nothing like that. 

Mikey watched his brother, who seemed to be staring at him with a far off look in his eyes, his mouth set in a tight frown. The smile on his own lips felt fake and weak, but he kept his mouth turned at the corners. He had to keep smiling, smiling for Gerard. This death hurt, hurt more that anything he had ever experienced, hurt more than when he had cut his hand deeply with a kitchen knife, hurt more than the time he had broken both his arm and leg trying to skateboard. It hurt more than those two combined, losing Frank, who he had considered a brother. But he knew he couldn't even fathom the pain Gerard was going through now. After all the years Gerard had put a smile on his own face for Mikey, had told him that everything would be alright, that everything would work out, it was his turn to put on a smile for Gerard. 

"Gee?" He said softly, breaking Gerard out of his stare. "Here, have some coffee, it'll wake you up." He pushed the cup towards his brother. Gerard stared at it for a moment before walking over and sitting next to Mikey, clutching the cup to his chest.

Silence encompassed the room, Mikey staring out the window and Gerard with his face down, watching the steam curl from his coffee cup. It swirled out of the dark liquid and wafted towards his face, making his eyes water. 

Mikey looked up suddenly, staring at Gerard, who looked back at him with a blank face. "Remember when you and Frank snuck out that one night? I think you guys were like, sixteen and I was fourteen, and I followed you both. You guys wanted to go to that one gig or whatever, but then you caught me sneaking around in the shadows. Remember that?" Mikey said with a hint of a real smile. 

Gerard's blank look didn't crack, but his eyes lost a bit of their glassy look. His face then curved into the smallest smile. "Yeah," He said with a breathy laughed. "I was so pissed when I found you behind those trash cans. Frank thought it was the funniest thing, for whatever reason." He took a sip from his coffee. "I kept yelling at you to go back because we wouldn't be able to get into the gig with you and Frank just kept laughing," He said, his smile growing. Frank's laugh echoed in his ears. 

"I was going to tell mom if you didn't let me come," He said. "You looked like you were ready to kill me," Mikey laughed and shook his head. Gerard let out a breathy chuckle. He remembered that night vividly, especially Frank. It was one of those many memories that stuck out in his head.

"In the end Frank ended up taking us to that all night diner instead of the gig. Remember that old place? They had the best coffee," Mikey said wistfully. Gerard's smile grew at the thought of the old diner that he and Frank used to visit. 

"Yeah, we ended up staying there the rest of the night," Gerard said. He paused "Frank was always good with coming up with solutions for shitty problems," he whispered. 

Frank had always been the voice of reason in his unorganized mess of a life, always the one who stood up for him in the hallways at school, always the one who had kept Gerard grounded, and always the one to fix his problems for him. 

_"Gerard I don't know what to fucking do!" Frank yelled, thumping his head onto the table and wrapping his arms around it. "Th-this thing, this relationship we've created, I don't know what it means!" His voice was muffled under his arms before he raised his head again and looked at where Gerard stood, huddled in the corner of the room staring right back at him. "I can't do anything with this, can't figure anything out unless you tell me what you feel." Frank said, his voice suddenly sounding very small, even in the tiny kitchen._

Yes, Frank had always known what to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment criticism and feedback!


	4. Chapter 4

Gerard felt like he was driving to pick up a date for prom, wearing his crisp white shirt and his clean black pants, holding a bouquet of white flowers. Mikey sat in the driver's seat with a casserole in his lap. It had been Mikey's idea to wear this, saying it was more respectful to dress nicely when visiting. He felt like Frank had looked lying in that wooden coffin, swarmed by all those flowers, cold and stiff. Mikey had told him he looked very nice though, that Mrs. Iero would appreciate this visit. 

The car stopped and Gerard looked to Mikey who had unbuckled his seatbelt and had opened the door, staring back at Gerard. He looked nice too, they had both dressed up to play the part of the caring friends, what would probably be expected of Frank's family. They were friends not family, Gerard was a friend, just a friend and that was the part he was meant to play in all of this. The caring, supportive friend of the family, the one who was there to help and then move on with his life, forget about Frank. 

Gerard stepped out of the car and followed Mikey up the path he knew so well and towards the house whose address he could remember like his own. It somehow looked different, dark, unwelcoming, so unlike the home he had spent so much time in as a teenager. The windows were dark and the blinds closed, the gray clouds in the sky, adding to the monochrome appearance of the white house. 

Mikey rang the rusty, old doorbell, balancing the casserole precariously in his one hand. Gerard's hands felt clammy around the stems of the flowers and he wiped them on his suit pants. The door creaked open and Gerard could recite the sound in his head it was so familiar. A man Gerard did not know opened the door and for a split second Gerard panicked. Where was the Iero family? Why hadn't Mr. or Mrs. Iero answered? They had moved, moved on, taken Frank with them. They were gone, or maybe they had never been there. Maybe it was all just a dream-

"Are you here to visit the family?" The man asked. He was young, maybe in his late twenties, but his eyes were filled with sadness, his face was creased into a frown and his shoulders slumped, looking as if he had a lead weight on his back. Looking at him Gerard knew that he was connected to Frank.

Mikey didn't even wait to see if would Gerard respond, seeing his brother's eyes filled with the far off look he had grown so used to seeing in them. "Yes, my brother and I were friends with Frank. I'm Mikey and this is Gerard," he said, shaking the man's hand with the other hand still clasped around the casserole.

The man nodded and stuck his hand out towards Gerard. Gerard glanced and the hand. This man must have been a relative of Frank's, not a friend, he knew all of Frank's friends. There hadn't been a time when he didn't know all of Frank's friends or a time when Frank wouldn't ramble about his other friends all the time. He would have known who this man was had he been Frank's friend. 

Mikey looked at his brother, who was staring at the man's hand intensely. Gerard's eyes flashed, realizing the man, who was now looking at him strangely, was still waiting to shake his hand. He quickly rubbed his sweaty palms on his pants again and shook the man's hand vigorously, still staring. 

The man gave Gerard one last odd glance before opening the door wider. "I'm- I'm...I _was_ Frank's cousin," he paused, his shoulders seemed to slump impossibly lower. "Uh, please come in, my name is Sam by the way." He stepped out of the doorway, gesturing for them to enter. 

Gerard followed Mikey into the house, his hands clenched so tight around the stems that his knuckles were turning white. _Was._ The man _was_ Frank's cousin. What was he to Frank? He _was_ Frank's...he _was_...what? What had he been to Frank in his last moments of life?

Walking into the house, Gerard felt like he was navigating his way through a thick fog. The air was a dry and condensed in the small room and barely any natural light made its way through the closed curtains. Flowers lined the entrance, an array of colors and sizes, some wilted, some fresh. The warm air held a powerful aroma that hit Gerard as soon as he stepped in, overly sweet and ripe, like rotting fruit. Soft murmurs floated from the other room along with the clanking of dishes and the clicking of heels. 

"I'll go get my Aunt Linda, hold on," Sam said, turning and walking out of the room.

Gerard looked after Sam as he left. He knew this house like it was his own, so did Mikey. Yet, even inside, looking around the house now, he felt like a stranger. Something was missing, _someone_ was missing, the house had lost a source of life and now it felt empty and hollow, just as Gerard did.

A short woman emerged from the alcove dressed in charcoal colors, only allowing her silhouette to show. Gerard would know her from anywhere. She paused at the alcove for a beat before rushing towards both Mikey and Gerard, enveloping them both in a hug. 

"Mikey, Gerard, oh my boys," she murmured, her voice cracking. She pulled away after a moment and Gerard resisted the urge to gasp. He hadn't seen Mrs. Iero in a while, not more than the glimpse at the funeral for a couple months. But she looked like she had aged twenty years. Her face was creased with frown lines and her eyes looked clouded and dark. The brightly lit, Italian woman with a twinkle in her eye that Gerard had grown up with was gone, replaced with a shell of a woman, someone with dead eyes and a solemn face. "Thank you so much for visiting, oh it means so much to me," she said as Mikey handed her the casserole and Gerard held the flowers out to her. She gripped the things with white knuckles as her hands shook, like she was gripping a lifeline. "Y-you, you boys meant so much to my Frankie, oh Gerard you meant so much to him," she whispered, her voice quivering and tears spilling from her eyes. 

Gerard felt a fresh wave of sadness wash over his numb body, like ice cold water. Mrs. Iero understood this pain he felt, she wasn't a phony mourner like the rest of them. She had lost her son and he had lost his... _what_ had they been? 

"I'm sorry I called you Gerard, bu-but I knew how much you meant to Frankie, how much he meant to you. I-it must have been hard for you to hear that over the phone." This time the tears in her eyes spilled over and she let out a quiet sob, an echo of the sobs she had emitted over the phone, making Gerard shiver. Suddenly he felt sick, physically sick, like his head was going to explode, blood decorating the room's walls and adding to the overripe stench. Mikey reached out to hug the woman again as Gerard tried to avoid the blood covered walls that filled his eyes.

Mrs. Iero pulled away from Mikey, wiping her eyes. "We're here for you, I'm serious Mrs. Iero, we're here for you as long as you need us," Mikey said, gripping her hand, his eyes filled with intensity. Gerard nodded rigidly.

I've always loved you boys, always cared for you like you were my own. Frankie treated you like a little brother Mikey, he thought you were an incredible kid," she said staring into Mikey's eyes with a sad smile on her face. She turned to Gerard, grabbing his hand. "And you." She gripped Gerard with such intensity Gerard thought her small hand was going to shatter. "He had a special place in his heart for you, I knew my son, knew when he was truly happy and that happiness was always with you, he loved you Gerard. H-he really d-did." The tears began to flow again and she wiped at her eyes. 

_He loved you Gerard._ It echoed, pounding through his skull. He couldn't think about that, not now, he wouldn't be able to handle that.

"I'm remember all the time you boys used to spend here when you were teenagers, always in Frank's room with your music an-and Frankie's guitar..." The tears wouldn't stop flowing from her eyes, wave after wave. 

Frank's room. Frank's room held so many memories, good memories. He hadn't been there in ages, not since he and Frank had left for college. He needed to see it, all of it. The safe haven he had spent his days in after school. Frank's old posters, his shitty T.V., the comics Gerard had bought him, Frank's guitar, all of it. 

He must have been looking upwards towards the stairs because Mrs. Iero turned to him. "You could go up if you'd like Gerard. I understand why. Please go, maybe you will find some old things-" Gerard wrapped his arms around her, feeling the tears from her eyes wet his shoulder.

Thank you," he whispered. She let out a quiet sob and clung to him a little longer before letting go. Mikey nodded towards him and grasped Mrs. Iero's hand, leading her into the other room. Mikey understood what Gerard had to do, what he needed to do. 

He turned back towards the time-worn stairs again and began walking. He couldn't think, couldn't hesitate, otherwise he would never be able to make it to the top of the stairs. There were so many emotions rushing through his head that he thought he was going to pass out for a moment, knowing that once he made it to Frank's room, he wouldn't be able to breath. 

Yet, he kept walking.

Frank's room was the first door on the right, the same wooden door that had endured countless pinning up of posters and other signs or symbols, some of the backing of old stickers still noticeable. Gerard stood outside the door and counted the small holes from push pins around the center. Opening this door meant opening to a whole new wave of memories and emotions, an ocean of black thick water that would fill his lungs and leave his face salty and wet. Pandora's Box. But these memories were clean, good, remnants of Frank and his youth, remnants of Frank. Like he told himself this morning, now was the time to reminisce, pretend. 

He turned the door knob.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this story is still in progress, I haven't forgotten about it. I've been very busy these past couple months but I promise I will see this story to the end. I realize the story has been slow so far, but I am building it up to something I hope to be very climatic. The next chapter will begin the true build up. Comments and constructive criticisms are always appreciated and I hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally updated! Thanks to everyone who is keeping up with this story and I again apologize for the slow update. Enjoy and once again comment any constructive criticism or thoughts on the chapter.

The room was dark, the blinds closed and the lights off. A ray of pale, gray light shone through a crack in the curtains, a sliver of silvery string shooting out across the room. The sliver of light illuminated the flecks of dust that floated through the air, slicing through the darkness. Even in the dark, the room radiated with ardor, affection, warmth, something Gerard couldn't find anywhere else, not even in his own home.

In all honesty, walking the room was a pretty anticlimactic experience. It looked the same as it had last time he had been here, which had been the day before they had both left for college. It was clean, (they had cleaned it out and stuffed all of Frank's junk in his car) much cleaner than it had been in high school, the bed sheets tucked in a smoothly instead of a twisted heap on the floor, the closet door closed shut, instead of being widely thrown open with Frank's ratty clothes bursting out of it. 

But glancing around again, he could pick up the familiar things he had come in the room for. The parts of the room that held memories, that meant home. The dent in the dark, red wall that Frank had made while showing Gerard his _"fucking amazing guitar solo"_ , the stain on the carpet Gerard had left after spilling blue Gatorade all over, the century old T.V. that you had to hit twice on the corner to get it to turn on, and Frank's guitar. _Frank's guitar_.

A Fender Stratocaster, the first guitar Frank had ever bought with his own money, the one Frank had saved up for all freshman year. Stuffed in the corner, the neck gleamed in the dull light and whispered to Gerard of sweet memories. The body was a deep brown wood, with sunburst design in the center and the neck, though old and worn, still light and shining. Frank had left the Strat at home after he left, opting for his much newer, fancier guitar to bring to bring with him.

Gerard rushed to the corner of the room, eager to wrap his fingers around the guitar and feel the metal at his fingertips. Although he had never learned much more than a few chords, he remembered vividly of Frank's scatter-brained lessons and his calloused fingers on top of his own. He grabbed the guitar and awkwardly draped the strap over his head, his fingers gripping the neck and strings tightly, desperate to relive any sort of feeling or memory he had during those late nights in Frank's room, watching him rush around with the guitar in his hand, explaining chords and notes to Gerard with over-energized enthusiasm.

The distinct leathery smell of the strap wrapped around his neck and the old timeworn wood held stories of nights in small basements and bars and days of being shoved in the backs of vans and trunks. Gerard let a small, sad smile creep onto the corners of his mouth at the thought of Frank and his guitar. Frank used to be able to express himself through his music better than any rock star or band member Gerard had ever seen. The fervent way he used to move as he threw himself around the stage at the concerts for his band used to leave Gerard breathless and grinning after watching him. "That's my best friend up there, he's incredible." He used to say to the people watching. Frank used to make fun of him for acting like his mom, but Gerard hadn't even cared because Frank deserved to have someone proud of him with the talent he had. Gerard knew deep down that Frank loved seeing him at all his shows.

Thinking of Frank, playing his heart out on stage with his electric or curled up with his old acoustic in his room left Gerard with an intense feeling of emptiness, hollowed out like the body of an acoustic guitar. The feeling of sadness was gone, replaced with something worse. Emptiness. 

He swallowed the lump in his throat that threatened to burst and tried to turn his mind to something else. His legs felt like water, shaking and close to giving out and he sat on the bed, still clutching the guitar and trying to take deep breaths. This emptiness that he felt was a burning presence in his chest, where Frank had been, where Frank should still have been. But instead Frank had been ripped from his world, gone forever, never given a chance to use that passion he had shown. And that left Gerard with a fiery ache, a gaping hole in his chest. Gerard was left to feel it alone, the ache of emptiness and remorse, for Frank would never get to truly change the world, as he had always wanted to do.

Gerard gripped the guitar tightly in one hand, running his finger along the body of the guitar and taking shaky breaths. Frank would never get to contribute his talents to the world. Never touch the lives of other people with his music, with the life he had inside of him. Thinking of Frank now, of how special Frank had been, Gerard felt bubbling rage and hatred for the dilemma of human immortality; death. He held the smooth body of the guitar tightly, his finger tips turning white. Death, the thing that ripped Frank from him, the thing that left him uncertain, that left him wondering about what was after life on earth. Not wondering about himself, no, wondering for Frank, the person who deserved so much more than the short time he had spent on earth. Frank didn't deserve a mere lifetime no, and he certainly did not deserve to spend the rest of eternity trapped in a wooden box under the cold, hard earth or have his soul simply evaporate into nothingness. Frank deserved immortality, away from this frigid world of humanity, somewhere in the depths of the universe, where he could be forever alive with passion and happiness. Frank deserved the land that Gerard had learned about in grade school, the mythical place where angels with satin wings flew and the streets were paved with gold, Heaven. Frank deserved his childhood dreams to come true.

Feeling his breathing grow more and more erratic, Gerard once again scanned the room for something to draw his mind away from the thoughts that clouded it. He began to feel almost as if he was fading away into the fog of his mind. The tears that threatened to spill from his eyes blurred the lines of the room, making it seem as if that was true. The mirror that hung on the wall across from him caught his eye, shimmering slightly in the weak light. Sitting on the bed, he suddenly felt the compelling urge to stand up, to see himself in the mirror and to make sure he wasn't vanishing into nothing. He removed the strap from his neck, already missing the strong smell of leather that reminded him so much of Frank. Feeling the tears begin to track down his face, he gently eased the guitar onto the bed before standing on wobbly legs and rising to meet his reflection in the mirror. 

The person's face who stared back at him looked pretty fucking pathetic even through the tears in his eyes. His hair hung over his face in greasy strands and his eyes were swollen red with tears. Gerard heaved a shaky sigh and stared at himself in the mirror, trying to prevent the breakdown he could feel creeping up on him, tugging insistently on him to just collapse. He leaned in closer to the mirror and watched his eyes, shining with tears, and swallowed with hard determination. He couldn't break down, not in Frank's room, not after he had promised himself he would try to keep it together, try to bottle it up. Imagining himself pushing the fog in his mind into a little glass bottle he continued to stare into the mirror, now watching the wall behind him with glassy eyes.

The slightest movement in the mirror caused him to draw away from the images in his mind, searching in the mirror for the source of movement. His eyes darted across the reflection, searching the dark corner of the room where the movement has occurred. Tears continued to run down his face like rain drops as he scanned over the reflection, his heart skipping a beat as he saw another shift of light in the corner of the room. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, tickling his skin and sending a chill down his spine. The room was fairly dark around the corners, the weak, silver light only illuminating where it shot out from the crack in the curtains. Gerard was tempted to turn on a light switch and his hand was about to move across the wall when he felt a cool chill blow across the bare skin on his neck, sending more chills down his back and making his skin crawl. The curtains partially covering the window shifted slightly, as if someone had ran their fingers along them.

Gerard was itching to turn around and face whatever was going on behind him, but before he could twist his head around his eye caught a strange movement in the reflection of the darkest corner of the room. The darkness of the corner seemed to be moving, the black particles almost looking like they were shifting, creating something, a shape. The frigid air continued to lap over him like waves as he studied the corner in the mirror, afraid that if he turned around it would be gone forever. The tears had dried across his face, leaving his cheek flushed and damp and making his skin feel dry and itchy. As he watched the corner with bated breath, the shape being outlined began to form almost a silhouette of something, a person. Gerard let out a gasp as the something flashed in the dark corner, a line of silver, like the light that filtered in the room. The light seemed to bounce, in the dark before twisting into something that looked like a hand. Gerard let out a stuttered cry, too afraid to turn around, not only in fear of the strange apparition appearing behind him, but also in fear that if he did turn around, it would all vanish and he would be left to cope with what may be insanity. The shape of the hand began to become more detailed and Gerard almost screamed as it reached out from the murky darkness, towards him, with long spindly fingers that shined in the dark. The tears began to fall again, tears of fear and despair for he did not know what this all was. _Was it real?_ Being the coward he knew he was deep down, he refused to turn around and face whatever demon was reaching for him in the darkness, too terrified to see that it may be his imagination, that his mind may be crumbling. 

Unable to close his eyes, he studied the spidery hand with growing fear as it seemed to pause where it was in the darkness, it's long fingers still reaching out. There was something familiar about the appendage, something about the shape of the fingers, or the strange markings he could barely make out on-

_"Gerard."_

He screamed, an utter cry of terror. The voice, Frank's voice, a voice he had written in his heart. The voice he heard was Frank's and it was a cry of pain, a whisper of sadness as the icy fingers wrapped around his neck, cold air slicing the skin of his neck.

"Frank! Frank!" He sobbed, feeling the breath leave him as he sunk to his knees, quiet whimpers escaping his lips as he felt the cold wrap around him like an icy blanket of snow, smothering him. Frank was in pain, Frank's voice he could hear it in his ears still, the cries of pain he heard, the sounds of sadness, of utter hopelessness all from the one word uttered from the hand, Frank's hand. His mind spun, feeling the glass bottle shatter and the fog escape, clouding his mind once again and leaving him helpless and lost as Frank's voice echoed in the caverns of his mind.


End file.
